


Love, Loss, Love, Repeat

by HellsPurestDevil



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) RPF
Genre: Blood, Death, Gen, Hospital Visit, Lawyer, Modern verse, Shooting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14131869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HellsPurestDevil/pseuds/HellsPurestDevil
Summary: Sickness and a hospital Trip trigger memories of a tragic event.Comments and kudos are much appreciated, anonymous comments are enabled





	1. Chapter 1

_At least Polly isn't here_. He keeps thinking it, Phillip hot and damp and tense in his arms.  _At least Polly won't catch this_. The five year old drags another breath that sounds like ripping paper and coughs miserably, so hard Jefferson clasps him tighter, seeing himself dropping him like a slippery bar of soap in the bath.

"She's BARKING," he remembers yelling into the phone, years ago. Patsy, a baby of maybe eight months, so bundled up in Martha's arms that she was just a blue cotton blob. Martha's face pale, imploring: Jeff DO something.

And Martha's mom, so calm, so insufferably right all the time: "Jeff, sounds like croup. Take her to the doctor. She'll be all right. They bark like seals, don't they? Sounds godawful."

Croup liked Patsy. They had come to learn that's quickly as she aged. It left Polly alone thank god, but Croup liked Patsy growing up, croup came to visit every year like a unwanted friend until she got older. Now Jefferson is familiar with this ugly strangled-sounding coughing noise the kid in his arms is letting out, but his sound different compared to hers, more violent then what he's use to. The first real sounds Phillip has made in more than a month now and they're THESE.

Phillip rested his hot cheek on Jeffersons shoulder and started to cry, a tired, congested fever induced weeping that hit Jefferson like a faceful of acid.  _PLEASE, please Jesus God stop crying, stop crying for your parents, I know their the ones you want back and Im never gonna be enough for you, but I'm all you GOT right now, kid, this is it._

Phillip shivered and barked, hoarse and loud, and Jeff went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, all hot water, until steam clouds the mirror over the sink. He kicked the door shut and sat on the closed crapper, whispering, "Breathe, Kiddo. Breathe."  
________  
_Breathe, Kiddo. Breathe_  
_Oh god how those words bring flashbacks._  
_(The smell of metallic)_  
_"How long has it been, a year and a-half?"_  
_Did it matter._  
_Should it have mattered._  
_(The bright red running down the stairs.)_  
_(The busted down door.)_  
_(The holes in the wall.)_  
_He could still read the headlines in his sleep._

**_LOCAL LAWYER AND SPOUSE FOUND SHOT DEAD IN THEIR HOME: CHILD IN CRITICAL CONDITION._ **

**_DOUBLE HOMICIDE-KILLER STILL AT LARGE._ **

**_GRISLY MURDERS SEND CITY ON EDGE._ **

_Alexander was suppose to be over by twelve afternoon that day. It had something to do with a play date Martha had Set up for the kids. Really it was her way of attempting to smooth and sort out their differences._

_"Come on Jeff. Nows the time to settle your differences once and for all and to stop acting like children."_

_He had scoffed at the idea, but had agreed for Martha's sake._

_An Hour went by, Alexander didn't show up. Two hours went by, he didn't pick up his phone. Neither did Eliza. Three hours later Jefferson became pissed._

_"Step me up that's fine, but step up my wife? Nah-huh, no way in hell."_

_He didn't realize at that time, how out of character it was for Alexander or Eliza to be late for something, how unheard of it was for them to not pick up their phone or even stand someone up. He didn't know he wasn't the only one not able to get ahold of them. All he knows is Martha had sent Madison with him to make sure he didn't do anything Stupid, when he stormed out of the house in a rage._

_Madison had to drive when Jefferson nearly backed the car into a on coming UPS truck. They drove down to the Hamiltons place, Jefferson had complained the whole route while Madison had begun expressing his deepest regret of having stopped Jefferson from wrecking the car. They made it to the Hamiltons. Jefferson got out of the car first. He went up to the door. Knocked. And the door had swung open after the first hit._

_They walked slowly in. They each called for Alexander or Eliza. There was no answer. They walked deeper in. The house was quite. It seemed empty. Madison had said something didn't feel right. Jefferson wish he had agreed with him because maybe then his guard would have been up when They found Eliza._

_The woman was lying on the floor in the small hallway leading from the kitchen to the living room in a pool of her own blood. It was obvious she was dead. Madison had panicked and went to the phone to call 911 while Jefferson went to check out the rest of the house._

_It didn't take long for him to find Alexander on the steps leading up to the upstairs bedroom. Poor Fool had become a Golden Oldie. The back of his head, as well as his back itself had been blown open by gunfire, even exposing bits of his spine to the dim lighting. Gunfire had eaten away the banister. The staircase was a bloodbath. Pockmarked. It looked like a war zone._

_Gingerly, Jefferson tried to make his way upstairs. He tiptoed around Alexander and went up the stairs, nearly tripping and having to grip the railing when his foot caught a blood puddle and he nearly joined Alexander on the floor. He went to the kids room at the end of the hall. The door was closed halfway. He put his hand on the Handle_ \--  
________  
"Polly's okay, right?" he says, and hears a pause before John replies, "Yes."

"No fever?"

" She's all right."

Jefferson sighed, gritting his teeth. _Reassure me, you lousy old fuck_ , Jefferson thinks, _I get it, you lost your daughter_ _but I lost my wife and Patsy and Polly lost their **MOTHER** , so just be a human goddamn being for once in your miserly old life and suck it up already, taking it out on me isn't gonna bring her back no matter how much you dislike me_. Aloud he says, "Good, good. I'm taking Phillip in, his fever isn't going down."

A longer pause. Then "Probably oughta."

"Tell Mad's. I'll call when we've seen them."

"All right then."

He doesn't say goodbye. Jefferson didn't expect him too. John always did hate him. He didn't give a shit though. Just wondered why he didn't send Patsy and Polly to go to the Burrs instead of his in-laws. _Shit move man, shit move_ indeed. He turned his head to the bed Phillip was lying on, curled in a cramped-looking comma, hair matted with fever-sweat and thumb pressing at his lips like he wants to suck it, and can't. He doesn't even twitch when Jefferson scoops him up.  
_________  
\-- _The door swings. He could feel it's breeze against his face. He groans. The squeaking of the door hurt his ears. The loud voice hurt his ears. His head hurt. His stomach hurt. His shoulder hurt. Everything hurt. He could hear footsteps. Someone's touching him now_

_"Philip..."_

_„Daaa..." it was so difficult to breathe suddenly, the pressure on his stomach growing._

_"Hold on... hold on..."_

_"Hurts..." he writhed, tried to hide away from the pain._

_"Shh.... shhh... stop fighting me. Open your eyes kid ..."_

_He didn't remember closing his eyes in the first place, but as he blinks them open,  
He suddenly doesn't feel the floor anymore beneath his back. His breath hitched again, as the pressure he felt grew even worse._

_"Ahh... s-stop..." He gasped, felt his eyes roll back into his head._

_Could feel hands on him, screaming his name_ \--  
_____

  
Jefferson softly closed the door of his 1963 Pontiac LeMans while the kid dozed in and out in the back. He climbed back behind the wheel of the Pontiac, the only car he had owned since his twenty-seventh birthday, that he didn't buy himself. He got the car from his father shortly before the old man passed. He leaned back sleepily- remembering that the last time he slept was nearly eighteen hours ago- and listened to the drowning whoosh as the wind blew small flecks of dusty snow around off his roof. He cracked the window open a little. Felt the Breeze. It was cold...

  
_____  
\-- _Phillip was cold. He was getting colder by the minute, and that was a problem. It was cold in the City, early winter. But he knew it wasn't all that cold in the ambulance. Which meant he was probably going into shock. Not good. Not by any stretch of the imagination was that good._

_"Phillip..." the kid stirs eyes blinking open, harshly squinting when the over-head lights almost blinded him. His eyes moved sluggishly, not able to keep up with the movement going on around him_

_"Come on Stay awake... stay with me here..." the kid blinked again, his head moving ever so slightly, coming to a rest at someone siting beside him, touching his shoulder._

_"Shhh, I got ya... we're almost there... hold on."_

_His hands clutched for the older mans shirt, holding on in no intent of ever letting go, trying to shuffle closer. He whimpered in pain as it exploded and ran in waves up and down his spine._

_„H'rts..." he keened, feeling suddenly cold, so cold._

_"Damnit! would ya just hit the gas? He's going into shock!"_

_"Daa... si..." and before Phillip managed to choke the word out he started to heave, ripples of pain coursing through his body, blinking against the dark spots that made it almost impossible to see. The spots went away. He saw the bright red he had spewed down the figures front._

_"My God... can this tin can move any faster he's-"_

_He didn't finish. There was a choked gurgle and the hands that gripped his shirt, holding on tightly, began to lose their strength. Jefferson turned his head to the little child. His heart beat frantic as he noticed the kids half lidded open eyes and unmoving form._

_He could hear the blood the kid vomited drip to the floor as he moved forward. He held his ear above the boys face. Nothing. No gasping....no wheezing....nothing..._

_"He...he's...s-something's wrong"_

_The medic came forward, he checked the kid over, then everything went into panic mode. Jeff had tried urgently not to cringe or lose focus as he heard the boy's ribs cracking under the pressure of the medic hands. It's going to save him; it's going to save him. It's better broken ribs than dead. The medic asked for help. Jeff remembered, being drenched in blood, the taste of the kids blood on his teeth as they pull into the hospitals parking lot_ \--  
______

  
He doesn't remember where to park at the hospital-he hasn't been here since Martha died- so he wound up pulling under the ER's canopy and leaving the car running while he picked Phillip up an slid out. It was cold, windy, crisp with Christmas right around the corner, and a gust tugged at the hood attached to Phillips jacket, licking it back to reveal dark colored locks.

Inside the girl at the front desk took his insurance card, made a photocopy, and winced when Phillip barked.

"Ok so, since this is a new system we have, some information needs to be clarified on the off chance there's any accidental mix ups between individuals"  
  
Thomas nodded. Phillip had gone to sleep. Finally

"Full name"

"Thomas..." he gritted his teeth "Thomas... _Peter_...Jefferson". God how he hated that middle name so much. But he had no time to be annoyed by it.

"Your Address is 651 Monticello Drive"

"Yes"

"Alrighty then, everything seems to be in order. Just take a seat and the doctor will be with you shortly."

Jefferson gave a small huff, a slight nod, turned and went to sit down and wait.  
_____

  
\-- _Jefferson had been sitting in the stark white hospital waiting room for six hours, twenty-four minutes and forty-six seconds._

_Forty-eight. Fifty. Fify-two…_

_He had been awaiting information on the condition of a certain child, one whose wellbeing obviously meant a great deal to him judging by his extreme diligence in waiting so very patiently for so very long a time in much less then decent condition.  
In fact, one nurse had spent the first three hours under the mistaken impression that the poor child in surgery was, in fact, his own son, before she had voiced this and, to the great amusement of the other nurses on duty, been rather embarrassingly contradicted on her theory._

_But Jefferson also knew that despite the extreme diligence, he was also attracting attention in a more...less then subtle way. His once stark white polo, which if he stood up before all this happened might have blended him into the backdrop of the white hospital wall, was stained red from the bottom of his pecs to above the waistband of the pants he wore. He had red smudge marks on his forehead and on various parts of his face, where his hands-which looked like they wore a fancy set of red gloves- had rubbed at his face nervously._

_God what a mess  
. . ._

_  
By the conclusion of the seventh hour, Jefferson had begun to lose hope, but had still surprisingly not moved from his spot. A small sigh manoeuvred its way around the peppermint Candy he had between his teeth to escape his lips as he leaned back into his chair tiredly. The shit had happened early in the night and it had to be almost 4 in the morning by now…_

_His eye shifted to the clock that laid nailed to the wall a little aways from him. The little hand was on 3, the big hand rested on 6._

_3:30am._

_He sighed._

_Martha was gonna kill him. He had forgotten to call her._

_He sighed again, letting his head lean back again the wall. Closed his eyes._

_. . ._

_Another Hour passed. He couldn't sleep like he wanted. Anytime he did something would startle him from his nap._  
_(The vomiting)_  
_(The blood)_  
_(The cracking of the kids ribs)_  
_He didn't know what though.The peppermint candy in his mouth, nothing more than the tiniest of slivers by now, snapped under the light pressure of his tongue and he sighed again before unwrapping another and popping it into his mouth. His 23rd since arriving at the hospital_.

__

_. . ._

_At the ninth hour, the sudden occupation of the seat beside him jolted the lightly sleeping Jefferson back to reality and he glanced around himself in sudden horrified disorientation before letting his eyes finally fall to rest on the figure sitting beside him.Martha watched in silence as he recomposed himself and sighed in relaxation before she scooted closer on her seat to his side. Jefferson leaned sideways, resting his head against her shoulder._

_"The receptionist told me that you've been here for hours…" she told him, her voice just a little off it's usual flat tone._

_"Many," he agreed, resting his chin on her shoulder. "How'd you know I was here?"_

_"Mad's called me...according to him, he'd been in the station answering questions since the ambulance pulled away from the house..."_

_Jefferson sighed, pulling away from her shoulder, he scooted away to give himself room before laying his upper half awkwardly across her lap._

_"...So it's true then" she said gently running her nails against his scalp. "Their both..."_

_"Yes" he said flatly. "Both of them"_

_"Oh Dear God" she said weakly and Jefferson gave her knee a slight squeeze in comfort. Then there was silence between them, never minding the occasional light content humming coming from Thomas, as Martha raked her finger nails against the skin of his neck._

_"Tommy"_

_"Hmm?" He replied to her pet name for him, not bothering to open his eyes._

_"What happened?" Jefferson once again sighed, flicking his eyes open. His face sagged solemnly. He should have known she was going to question what exactly went on just when he was starting to relax his mind._

_"I don't want to talk about it...." he refused to elaborate any further on the matter, not with the pictures so fresh in his mind. He didn't want to go into detail. Jefferson may had been a lot of things, but at least he was decent on sparing people details they didn't need to hear. And after the recent events that had transpired, he probably wasn't gonna be anymore willing to tell her as he would anyone. Plus if they wanted to know they could just ask him later, He doubted his mind would let him forget any details._

_Instead he yawned._

_Martha noticed this. "You should go home and get some sleep, the house is quite, I dropped Patsy and Polly off at my parents" she told him._

_"I think I'll wait...until I have news of the boy first," he argued, frowning softly. "I may as well, as I've waited so long already."_

_Eyes widened in slight surprise, His wife didn't reply for a few moments, only locked her fingers more firmly into his curls._

_"If that is your wish."_

_"Yes…yes....it is" he said, but Martha didn't catch the last bit and as his eyelids began to flutter once more, Jefferson became immensely thankful for the softness of the pillow and the calm metronome of deep breathing that she had provided for him through the close proximity of her body. Martha on the other hand, kept playing with his hair long after she heard the light snoring. Whilst she played, She tried not to mind the blood stains that littered his body. matted his clothes, and tangled some strands of his hair, wouldn't dare to even think about what went on the prior hours beforehand. Instead she just watched him sleep._

_Ever since they had gotten married she always loved Thomas as he slept. It was not a portrait of an innocent sleeping child albeit, but there was an endearing quality to him as he lay, snoring softly. Perhaps it was the way his lips stayed parted, the lower one jutting out ever so slightly. Perhaps it was the way he sunk his cheek into her knee, as if his head weighed more than he could carry. His face looked younger when he slept. She listened to his quiet breathing and followed those lines that etched some parts of his face with her eyes; she longed to touch them but did not wish to wake him. He needed the rest; the ordeal of the day's events had defiantly taken their toll on him._

_Whatever had happened at that house had been lost to her. When Mad's had called her, he had left out many bits of the events that lead them to where they were. All that was told to her was that Alexander and Eliza were both deceased, Jefferson was at the local hospital and Madison was being questioned by the police. When put like that she figured someone might have given her a pass and let it slide, when the idea of Jefferson might having something to do with it crossed her mind for a split second._

_  
After all it would have only been a matter of time before either Thomas or Alexander killed each other anyways with the way they behaved..._

_**Had** behaved..._

_Her shoulders had slouched. That poor boy. When she had been told about Philip by the nurse when she came in, She had thought about her own kids immediately, what would have happened if they were in the same situation. It was safe to say her parental instincts had kicked in strongly at the thought of what that poor child was going through and would go through when all this was over and she had an idea that was also what made Thomas stay. Thomas wasn't a man to wear his emotions on his sleeves all that often, but when it came to certain things, such as their children, and despite what people thought, Thomas was everything a fatherly figure was meant to be. Firm but Fair, Loving but Stern, but above all things he was protective. And she guessed that was what happened here. Despite Philip being related to man Thomas couldn't stand and wanted nothing to do with, he had spent god knows how long in this nearly empty waiting room when he could've left at any time and called someone else to come when the kid was being dealt with. In the end she guessed Thomas's parental instincts had kicked in as strongly as hers for a child that wasn't his own. And the thought couldn't have made her more happier._

_Gently, she brushed the hair from his temple and laid a soft kiss on his temple._

_"You did good Tommy"_ \--  
________

  
Thomas still felt his wife's kiss on his temple even as the memory had faded back to reality. He closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his free hand against his forehead and pressing his fingers against his temple-

 _He could still feel it_.

-right as Philip started bark-coughing again. The sound grating against his ears, like rocks against a cheese grater. God that sounded like it hurt. It wasn't until a "Mr. Jefferson?" did he realize the nurse standing besides him, a clipboard in her hands.

"This is Philip?"

He swallows and nods. "He's having – trouble breathing."

"I can hear that. Let's go on back, okay?" She touched Philips damp hair, smiled gently, and Philip moaned against Jefferson's shoulder, still asleep but not deep.

"Actually, I gotta move my car, do you think you could.."

"I can take him." The nurse has a pretty smile. "We'll be in room seventeen, okay?" The nurse reaching for him and picking him up had roused Philip to nothing more than a sludgy semiconsciousness. He drew a whooping breath and gave a croaky pathetic, but all despairing "mommy" Jefferson felt his body go cold

 _Oh dear god no_  
god don't call for her  
Please don't not her

Philip clenched his eyes shut and his chest drew in with the force of taking a breath, and called out "Mommy" with a kind of hopeless despair that practically drew Jefferson's balls up into a tight mass of agony in his crotch, making him feel dizzy and weak and oh God, unWANTED.

 _Question kid if I may ask_  
which "mommy" are you calling for  
My wife or your mother  
Cause I'm sorry to break it to you kid, neither are coming back.  
this is it, kiddo, I'm all you got right  
and I'm real sorry I'm not good enough for you.

"We'll be okay," the nurse says loudly trying to calm the kid. "Come on, sugar, let's go get you some medicine, okay? Your mommy'll be here just as quick as she can, all right?"

"No," Thomas says. His arms hang limp at his sides. "She won't."  
Philip looked at him at that moment, eyes glassy. Thomas's throat tightened, he remembers those eyes.

 _(The blood)_  
(Alexander with his head blown in  
(Eliza's thousand yard stare)  
(eyes wide and glassed)  
(The ambulance)  
(Philips eyes as he...as he...he..)

"She can't come," he whispers, and doesn't know if he's telling the nurse or the crying child, who can't hear him anyway.

He practically fled through the outside door, welcoming the crisp slap of the wind, and even when the Pontiacs sturdy steel door slammed shut behind him, he still thought he heard Philip calling for his dead mother.

_Which "mommy" are you calling for kid  
My wife or your mother..._

He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, screwing his eyes shut huffing and puffing.

_Cause neither are coming back._


	2. Cassettes and Fate

He finally found a parking space, under the bright determined glare of a sodium lamp. Siting behind the wheel, he took a cigarette from the pack in his breast pocket. The lighter's flame was bobbing with the shaking of his hands: it's wrong to smoke in the car, Martha tolerated his cigarettes but not in their car, and it's still old habit to think he needed to climb out, and have his smoke outside.

But It didn't matter now, she's was not here, and he exhales smoke and frosty air, watching it curl around the steering wheel in slow elegant loops.

It had been Martha's idea to take in Philip.

He tried to talk her out of it. Tried to tell her it was wrong. That Philip wasn't theirs. That they had kids of their own to deal with and that he belonged with the remainder of Eliza's Family, her sisters, Angelica and Peggy and their parents. But Martha had persisted, claiming that Angelica and Peggy or their parents for that matter wouldn't be in the right state of mind to raise the child after all this was done and he was out of the hospital, especially when they would have to start planning the funeral (Jefferson and the late Alexanders own work boss George had offered to help plan a funeral for Alexander. As far as Jefferson knew Alexander had no family, George was the closest thing to a father figure Alex had and he had to admit the gesture was sickeningly sweet).

The back and forth on the matter of Philip had gone on for nearly two weeks, which was barely only a third of the time frame he actually had spent in the hospital. He would have been released sooner, had he not somehow caught a very persistent infection that nearly succeeded in killing him twice. In the mean time, the situation regarding him had been straining out. As it turned out, Martha had been, albeit sadly, right about the sisters. When it came time to plan the funerals as well as talk to the police regarding the murders, they had been too busy to even come to the hospital on a regular basis sometimes. The guilt of that had eaten them so much people had begun joking that it may have been smart to plan four funerals instead of Two.

Then Alexanders friends had offered to take the kid for a while.

First to offer was Hercules and Lafayette. They had been planning on vacationing to Lafayette's hometown in France the first week of spring anyways and they claimed they wouldn't have minded cramming some more funds in to take the kid with them. But they were quickly dismissed on that idea, not only for the fact of being reminded Philip probably wouldn't be healthy enough in time for the lengthy trip, but also for the fact he wouldn't be healthy enough mentally for it either.

Burr and his wife had offered to take the kid for a while, then silently realized the flaw in forgetting that the apartment they rented was only big enough for three people, and they already had a daughter anyways and it wouldn't have been fair to cramp Philip up in such a small space.

And then there was Lauren's.

Jefferson took another drag on his cigarette. Blew it out. 

Three words

_**Poor fucking fool** _

At the time this was all going on, nobody knew were Lauren's had been. After Alexander's death, he had gone off radar. He had stayed at Hercules and Lafayette's apartment for a few days, then just disappeared without a trace. No one knew where he was, he didn't show up to the funeral and Hercules and Lafayette had begun to worry if, in his depression, he was capable of doing something stupid. It was only three weeks later did he return to New York. He looked horrible. When questioned, He had apparently snuck into Alexanders house after the cops had left, somehow managed to find a stash of letters Alex had written him from when they were in College, drove upstate and had succeeded in getting himself drunk for nearly 2 weeks straight. That had been enough to convince Herc and Laf to take Lauren's with them on their trip to France. They had already lost one friend they had said and " _we would be damned if they lost another to grief_."

He smoked a second cigarette, his throat dry and irritated, wishing for coffee as he watched ambulances come and go in the bay across the parking lot. Tiny flurries of motion, uniformed bodies and gurnies and patients swaddled against the cold.

He leaned back, cigarette in hand dangling out the window. Suddenly wishing, out of nowhere, for his own mother. Her unsmiling face, awkward stiff pats on the shoulder with her boney wrinkled fingers, _Very good, Tom, now see to your chores, we'll have supper presently_. Supper, the only route to his mother's soul: all the warmth that she could not bring herself to show, expressed in mountains of food, plentiful and hot and humbly tasty.

His mother been dead for fourteen years, and he suddenly longed for her dry bird's touch with an ache in his throat that reminded him of Philip. He didn't have the best relationship with his parents growing up, practically couldn't stand his father when he was still alive but he would be lying if he said he didn't miss his mother. She was the only parent of the two he had a decent relationship with. A decently strained relationship, but a relationship no doubt.

As he smoked the last of his second cigarette, he began to wonder if he could go inside yet. If Philip had given up, finally? If he had realized his mom was not coming?

  
He threw the butt of his cigarette out the window and curled into his seat. He closed his eyes for a few moments, contemplating, figured he could wait a while,then reached into the glove compartment and pulled out the cassette tape that lay in a small case. It had been Martha's Cassette.

The only thing to survive the crash.

He studied it in his hand for a few moments then slipped the tape in the Cassette player, and pressed the button.

He stopped, leaned back again and let his eyes fall closed for a moment. The tape reels ran on smoothly, undergoing all the correct electrical and magnetic changes. Then slowly, the voice of Phil Phillips "Sea of Love" filled the car.

 _Come with me, my love_  
_To the sea, the sea of love  
I want to tell you how much I love you_

This had been Martha's favorite song. His too. He often remembered when they were younger, sitting in the car listening to it for hours on end. It had even been played at their wedding. Oh what good times those were. He always loved that women. He remembered when she and Him went to Lake Pontchartrain for their honeymoon and how it was one of the happiest two weeks of his life. Martha always made him happy.

They had their hard times too of course. She was pregnant when they got married, but she lost the baby shortly after. They tried again twice more, but each time ended the same way. Their relationship became strained. Thomas worked longer and more hours and tended to walk on pins and needles around his wife. Martha, a normally strong willed women, had begun retreating into herself, placing all of the blame of the three miscarriages on her shoulders solely.

The situation took its toll on her physically, mentally, and emotionally. She lost weight, became depressed, and Thomas remembered being woken up some nights by her crying in her sleep. When it got to much, the pair decided to stop trying to start a family and attempt to get things back to the way they were before.

But fate had other plans for them as it turned out. A few years later, their wish had been granted. Martha had gotten pregnant and few months later had a little girl. They had Patsy. He was happy. A few more years later they had Polly. He was happier. Sometime later, they took in Philip, Thomas was admittedly indifferent but had grown to care for the boy over time so he was happy.

Then one day, Martha was gone. And Thomas was alone again. Sure he had Madison, His two girls and now Philip by his side. But it wasn't the same and he knew that it would never be. He still went to bed every night, expecting to wake up to a warm body complaining that he snored all night again. To get a phone call telling him to come pick her up cause she forgot the spare tire to her car again and she was gonna be late for work. To play his violin for her before bed.

But none of that was ever gonna happen again.

He crossed his arms and laid them on the steering wheel followed by his head. Something shiny on his hand caught his eye. There was two plain gold wedding bands on the third finger of his left hand. He examined them, then he kissed the ring above his band.

 _Do you remember when we met_  
_That's the day I knew you were my pet_  
_I want to tell you how much I love you_

Then He started to cry.

_____

  
Somebody was tapping a finger on the window.

Thomas jerked, then sat up. A bolt of pain went through his neck and he winced at the dead, cramped feel of the flesh there. He had been asleep, not just dozing. Reliving memories. But here and now it was early New York daylight, and the finger tapped again.

He turned his head cautiously and painfully and saw a figure, wearing a black scarf around the lower half of his face and a heavy winter jacket, peering in.

For a moment they just stared at each other through the glass and Thomas felt curiously naked, like an animal being looked at in the zoo. Then his mouth took over, smiling, and he cranked the window down.

“James?”

“I knew it was you,” he said in a queerly flat tone. "Your the only person I know who drives this hunk of Junk." Jefferson huffed. But didn't say anything. He had never expected to meet him this way, unprepared and exposed. He felt like a sentry who had fallen asleep at his post suddenly called to attention.

"Scoot over."

Thomas wondered how he had gotten in the passenger seat. He coulda sworn he was in the drivers seat when he dozed. Both legs had gone to sleep; pins and needles tingled up from the balls of his feet as he opened the door and tried his best to move over to the drivers seat. Madison slipped in soon after, he was holding two Cardboard Cups, the heat on them misting in the cold air.

Oh god Madison was a life saver. Wait....wait a second...Thomas squinted at the insignia on the cups.

"Jasper's, They're open this Early?" Jasper's Brew, or the shop as the locals liked to call it was known for its coffee and it's unusual floor plan. It was a large room divided in two by a curtain divider of all things. The front side held a counter and an array of seating arrangements. The other side held even more chairs, tables, and anything else you could sit on; it also had four computers with internet access. It had an upstairs with a larger room with great acoustics where local bands played weekly and apartments were available to rent. It was basically the large yet cozy place to be in town. Aaron and his wife even rented one of their apartments.

Madison nodded, "Jasper figured with the recent weather he could probably make a little bit more cash on the side if he opened early."

"Remind me to Tip the crazy coot next time I see him." Madison said nothing. When he had finished the coffee, Jefferson lit a cigarette and pushed back from the Steering wheel. Madison flashed the cigarette a disapproving look.

"I thought you quit?'

Jefferson shrugged slightly, letting his hand hang out the window. The cigarettes smoke waving in the breeze. James sighed and took a roll of wintergreen Life Savers from his coat pocket. “Patsy and Polly are still at Martha's folks. Want one?” Thomas shook his head at the Life Saver he had thumbed up. He popped it into his own mouth instead.

"How are they?"

"Their fine..asleep when I left." Madison bit down on the candy in his mouth "...Patsy's been asking where you are."

"What did you tell her? He put the cigarette to his lips took a puff, then let the smoke exit slowly from his nostrils. "That you would be back soon, thought to be perfectly honest, with you being gone for nearly two days I'm beginning to feel like I'm lying to her."

Jefferson's eyes widened. Two days, had it really been just two days. It felt longer, felt like a eon since he left the baby and his oldest with Martha's parents with Madison to supervise and hid in his house, nursing Philip the way he remembered and praying that the baby didn't pick up whatever bug the kid had gotten.

"Well....if things go right they should be able to come back today, depending on how things go." He chucked the cigarette butt out the window "Has that old bastard complained much."

" _John_ , hasn't said much since you dropped them off. Or at least he won't say anything. He knows your temper Tom, and he also knows that if I'm around that anything he says about you is fair game to tell."

He popped another lifesaver in his mouth.

"He also knows you'd killed him if he ever badmouthed me"

Thomas snorted. Damn straight he would.

"Hasn't been all bad though, you know what your youngest started calling me"

"What" Thomas asked raising a brow. While he knew even with limited speech abilities, Polly normally called him Da or Pa, he also knew how Poor Madison had often been reduced to nothing more then simple Mmm's and Jmm's. What on earth could his youngest had called Madison that he sounded so excite....

"She called me Jem."

Ok admittedly that caught him off guard. "Jemmy" was originally a nickname only Thomas had every really called James ever since they were kids. To have it come from the mouth of someone else, especially one of Jefferson's own blood was kinda odd. Though he couldn't help but smile at the image of his little girl calling one of his closest friends a nickname that had been attached to James at the hip since they were school-kids. He wished he was there to see the look in his face. Side eyeing James, Thomas cocked his head a little to the side. "Is that so....it would seem to me like I have been replaced by my own child in the private privileges of calling you Jemmy."

James chuckled. "Tom, you know besides my parents that you're the only one of a small few that I've ever allowed to call me Jemmy." Then he added "...Besides at least she's cute when she says it."

"Rude,” he huffed, but James could just faintly see the ghost of a smile grace his features. They sat in silence for a few moments. Jeff thought about taking another cigarette, but when he reached for his pack, despite the disapproving glances he was receiving from the seat opposite him, it turned out the pack was empty.

How moderately disappointing.

There was a little clicking noise next to him. Thomas turned his head. Madison had his hand extended, small wintergreen Life Savers in his palm. He looked at the life savers, back at Madison, then back at the life savers. He cocked a brow as Madison raised his and nodded. Thomas sighed, rolling his eyes, before he took one of the white rings and popped it into his mouth, Madison looking pleased with himself. Jeff rolled it with his tongue for a minute or so before the wintergreen flavor took its affect. And take its affect it did

It took a short while, but soon enough his mouth felt like he had swallowed a tube of mint toothpaste. He coughed, grimacing, his eyes screwing.

Madison laughed, and Jefferson felt his heart flutter for the first time in weeks. It was nice to hear Madison laugh. They sat in the car for a while, talking about things. Well Madison talked mostly, an endless monologue that jumped from topic to topic with hardly a pause. Thomas would listen for a while, then his thoughts would trail off for a while, following their own tangents, and then his mind would come back. It went on like this for almost a hour.

But then the conversation started to take a turn. At first it was on the topic of the trial happening in just a few weeks. He had completely forgotten about that admittedly. Which was surprising cause when they announced they caught the guy, he was ecstatic to see the face of the man who caused all this Hell. The man they had caught however, wasn't exactly what Jefferson was expecting. He was a average looking guy maybe early thirties shorter then him, with a babyface who was originally sitting in Maximum Security while awaiting trial on charges of armed robbery and assault with a deadly weapon. He didn't seem like the killer type and his record proved it. Besides the assault with a deadly weapon's charge, He had no previous arrests for violence. But he guessed people did change.

"....But can you believe they freaking caught him cause he didn't think to ditch the car."

It was true, either this guy was the dumbest criminal ever, or career criminal he was not. When they arrested him for the armed robbery case, a search of his residence lead police to find Alexanders car that the guy had used as a getaway vehicle, parked in his garage. The gun was in the trunk. It had a suppressor on it, practically made for the Job. As he was siting in Maximum Security, officers questioned him about the Murders. As it turned out the guy was as cowardly as he was bad at concealing evidence of his crimes and spilt his guts almost instantaneously when talk of the death penalty come up. He had confessed to the murders but added that he had been paid to do it. When asked by who, he refused to mention names, but he told the story of how a friend of his had called him one day saying a friend needed a favor. Turns out Alexander had been this guy's lawyer, and the friend was unhappy with his handling of his case, blaming him for being unable to lower a long term sentence he was facing, and was offering a large sum of money for Alexander to be taken out.

The man....Lee....that was his name, he forgot the first name, something with a C....had acquired the gun from his friend and was told to stage it like a home invasion gone wrong and the rest had been history. Now two people were dead and Lee was siting in prison. A bitter sweet end to a tragic story.

As Jefferson's thought's got lost thinking about the trial, Madison's conversations began to go off on random tangents. Which he wouldn't have minded since he really wasn't paying attention, expect for the fact that from what his ears were picking up they were all following patterns. First was about the murders themselves, which of itself was a touchy subject to get across. Philip never talked about it. Jefferson doubted he ever would. But he couldn't blame him, he never talked about it either...  
But then Madison said something else.

To this day Jefferson never truly remembered what he said, but he remembered that whatever he said had something to do with how luck had not been kind to anyone lately, and how long it would be before either of them joined the fray and kicked the bucket along with the rest of them.

"I'm more close to the grave then any of us, Fate has just been kind enough not too push me in it."

The last bit was what put Jefferson's stomach into his feet. It wasn't unusual for Madison to talk like that, so nonchalant about death, he had gotten use to it. But with recent events this past year, it sounded like he was tempting fate, and suddenly Jefferson got hot under the collar at the thought of fate biting back and making him eat those words.

_Come to think of it, the window was open why was it so hot all of a sudden. And why did it feel like he couldn't breathe all of a sudden._

Madison had been looking out the window, thinking as he spoke, when he turned back to Thomas. What he saw frightened him badly for a moment—it was as if Jeff had gone insane. He was smiling, but it was a rictus of pain and horror. Sweat stood out on his face in big round droplets.

“Thomas? Jesus, Tom, what—”

Thomas didn’t bother to answer at first. He all of a sudden had a queasy, thumping headache and he knew if opened his mouth at this exact moment, he was going to vomit, which defiantly wouldn't be pleasant for either party. James words had unintentionally brought on a thought that had been crossing his mind at the worst times ever these last few weeks. A thought that he hoped would died a slow nasty death. But now it just blared on and on the more he looked at James concerned face.

How long _would_ it be before fate or whatever the hell you wanted to call it, gave up being kind and took away one of his oldest and most closest of friends too. It already took away his own wife. How long would it be until Madison left him as well and he was alone for good. No matter what he did, Madison always did seem to catch a bug or something, when would one of these bugs be his last...

God, he could feel the tears already welling up in his eyes at the thought. Which was ironic cause when he was growing up, he remembered going through a phase, albeit a short one that still lingered from time to time, where he didn’t _like_ people. If everyone on earth had died but him when he as younger, he would have been perfectly happy. But that wasn’t the case anymore. He was older now. He had been married. Had kids. Had the greatest friend in the world stick by his side through thick and thin even when he himself probably wasn't the greatest of friends. Now was different, now he was terrified of being alone. The mere thought of being alone terrified him now.

A sob hitched in Jeff's throat as he tried to calm himself.

"Are you--are you crying?"

Jeff huffed. Of course, Mad's just had to ask. Pulling himself together, Jeff swiped his hand across his face. "No, James. I ain't cryin'. I caught your damn cold!" Lying wasn't gonna work, His voice was raw and lacked the dignity to sell it. He kept trying to calm himself, but the tears kept coming. The sobs kept getting caught in his throat, choking him. He coughed, which brought on the tears harder then before.

When Madison extended his arm, no doubt hoping for a way to try and console his weeping friend, it scared Jefferson how almost instinctual it was, the way he suddenly and almost absentmindedly pressed his head against James's chest, catching his friend off guard which he felt by the way in Madison's chest muscles clenched before relaxing. He wanted to pull away, felt himself try to move back to save whatever dignity his body hadn't cried out yet, but his head refused to move from its position, pressed against Madison, and no matter how much he wanted to move he couldn't. It was like his body and mind were at war, seeking something, but not sure if it wanted it or not. Instead he held his breathe to control his sobs and turned his head up to Madison. Looking at his deeply socketed eyes made Madison uncomfortable. Jeff looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. But there was also something else behind those eyes that caught his attention. Something no short of silent pleading.

"Tommy, you know I'm not going anywhere, I just say those things." He said it as though he was answering a unasked question as his gently ran a hand up and down his back. Jefferson just hung his head.

 _Your lying_ "I know that" he said in a low, choked voice. It scared him how small his voice was. It scared Madison how unsure he sounded.

Mad's put his fingers under Jeffs chin and tilted his face up. He smiled at him and Jeff made an effort to smile back. It was a weary smile, and tears were coursing down his cheeks, but it was better than no smile at all.

“Everything’s going to be fine,” he said. That voice, smooth as silk, little more than a whisper, but enough to silence the mans faltering voice completely. It was strange, being comforted by Madison. Hard to believe back when they were kids, Madison had been the quiet child and Jefferson was looking out for him. Some of the silence in him, Jefferson knew, came from the fact that he had never had a lot friends, or the time for them. There was school, and there was no school, when he would be stuck in his house cause his body had decided to betray him and welcome any germ that needed a place to stay rent free. Schools never helped in his shyness either. The Schools they attended together were places of roaring silence where grim-faced boys made fun of his sickly nature on a regular basis. Jefferson remembered one such instance at the start of sixth grade, where one of the older boys ran up to Madison with his hands plastered over his mouth. While they watched the kids sad attempt at "mimicking" Madison, another had come up from behind them, and had punch him out.

Why? No reason. Except they wanted too.

After instances like that, James stopped wanting to communicate, and when that happened the friend making process itself had just begun to rust and disintegrate. Jefferson still stayed around though. It didn't drive him away. Instead it fueled something in him. A need to want to be around James, to look out for him. He protected James, even at his own expense at times, and in turn Madison followed him around and provided him the company he never thought he wanted let alone needed. People would often laugh or make comments at the sight of "little runty" Madison being attached at the hip to the tallest kid in the class who was almost as equally quiet unless he was around Madison. But people never bothered James when Jefferson was around. Jeff had made sure of that.

Fast forward many years later, here was little quiet Madison, comforting him as Jeff once did for him all those years ago. And he didn't know how to feel about it. Was it wrong, could it be wrong... _yes_.

Yes, It was wrong. This was wrong cause it wasn't suppose to be like this. He was meant to look out for James, provide him comfort. He was meant to be the strong one the one who kept his emotions in checked and not let stupid things like this get to him. But here they were. Across the street from the hospital, sitting in a car his deadbeat of a father gave him before he died, parked underneath a sodium lamp in the middle of winter, looking like they were costarring in hollywoods newest chick-flick.

He shook his head, a few tears shaking free and flying off into the cold air.

_**No.No.No.** _

He refused to be pitied. Not by anyone. Not by Madison. No he couldn't, he just couldn't. He spent his whole life not being pitied by anyone, he could go longer. Madison didn't deserve this, it wasn't fair to him.

Despite the war going on in his body, Jefferson managed to pulled away from James touch abruptly, wiping his face with the sleeve of his Sweater. He straightened himself, then hunched tensely over the steering wheel, his face drawn in the dim glow of the dashboard instruments. He could just barely see Madison looking at him with a facial expression resembling disbelief and pity from the corner of his eye. But he said nothing, just continued looking forward.

The hand that held Jefferson's chin still hung in the air for a few seconds before Madison pulled it away. He could see the way his friend tried to keep his eyes ahead but kept flicking them back and forth between them. He could practically see the war cogs of self-preservation and the want for comfort practically grind themselves to smoke behind his eyes. It killed him to see his friend in such a way. If he was anyone else, Madison could have plucked one of Jeffs hands off the wheel, hold it, chaste him for being stubborn like always, and attempt to heal the breach in Jefferson emotions entirely.

But he couldn’t make himself do it. It was obvious Jeff had no business wanting to be comforted at the moment, no matter how tacit or unconscious his wanting was. And Madison was not gonna make it his business to push Jefferson into doing something he didn't wish to do. Over the years he had learned heavy heartedly that Jefferson had more thicker walls around his emotions then he did and his temper when he was backed into a corner so to speak was not something to trifle with, especially when it came to Jefferson's dislike for "People Feeling Sorry Him." Madison had seen it before. Had seen the way people pushed without giving him time and watched Jefferson snap back with such acidity it made him physically and mentally cringe. He didn't want to push him to that limit. Not with him so vulnerable now. This outburst of emotions was so unlike Jeff. Now Jeff would go through the process of denying this ever happened and trying to preserve his dignity. If he did pushed now, Jeff would just close up tighter and he would never be able to breach the subject ever. Jeff would just bury it deeper, causing himself even more trouble.

No, pressing Thomas was out of the question. If Thomas needed space when he was fine, he needed even more space when he was feeling bad and down. But that didn't mean Madison wasn't gonna forget about this.

No....No this just meant he was just gonna bide his time. Jefferson would come around. He could wait. He was patient.

Why, when you got right down to it. He could be just as stubborn as Jefferson.


	3. The waiting game in the waiting room

The short trip back to the hospital was taken mostly in silence. The receptionist had smiled tentatively at them as they walked by front desk, Madison's short little legs trying desperately to keep up with Jefferson's long legged strides. He occasionally waved to some nurses he recognized from his monthly trips to the hospital. The ER wasn't too full like it usually was which surprised him, mostly unseen coughing and murmured discussions behind drawn curtains and closed doors.

They walked down the hospitals long corridor, Jefferson's eyes occasionally glancing up to the numbers on the doors. Goddammit this was just like being in school again. Why couldn't they keep the numbers in order. Fucking Christ for all he knew 17 was in the fucking basement.

They came to the dividing doors, the automatic opening on it was busted so Jefferson had to push on its handle, opening it more violently than necessary. He thought he saw James flinching a bit at his mannerisms but paid him no mind, though he did slow down a little allowing James to catch up, after he closed the door gently behind him.

 _Hey listen don't take it out on him just because your afraid. If you loose him in a couple of years fine so be it but chase him off now and you really will be alone. Is that what you want. After all You always did wanna be alone growing up, now your getting your wish. Are you satisfied. Shoulda spent more time trying to make friends then sulking around. Wouldn't have to worry about loosing the only one you have you_ -

"Oh God, shut up already" muttered Thomas stopping in his tracks abruptly.

"What?" asked James, stopping shortly before he bumped into Jefferson's back.

"Nothing" he said, rapidly. "Look...." He turned his head down to Madison as if he wanted to say something but decided against it. James took a small step backwards and dedicated Thomas another up and down questioning glare.

"Do you know where room Seventeen is..." _Ah perfect good save well done me_."..This place is like a rat trap"

"I think you mean maze"

"Whatever"

Madison sighed, then gave his eyes a glance around the hallway.

"Five doors up to the left"

Madison was right, sure enough five doors up to the left was room seventeen. It's blinds were down. There was no noise on the other side, least ones that they could hear. Jefferson rose his hand up to the knob but at the last moment he hesitated and his hand tensed, jerking back every time he tried to touch the handle.

Something touched his back and he jerked a little. He turned slightly. Madison had his hand on him. But he couldn't see his face.

"I'll um....I'll see you home"

He sighed as he heard James soft foot steps as he turned to leave, his hand slipping off his back. He turned as Madison made it to the double doors.

"Hey James."

Madison had stopped shortly of opening the doors and turned his head. He rose a eyebrow.

"I....I...." The sound of swinging doors stopped him mid-sentence. He heard the measured tread of one set of rubber soles, compelling Jefferson's head to turn toward them with an mixture of curiosity. He let out his breath as the weary figure in stained green scrubs passed by Madison, who jumped back in unexpected fright. Then things started to move in slow motion.

 _I know you...I remember you_ \--  
_______  
\-- _The fact that it was called a 'waiting room' was so obvious, it was borderline idiotic. Almost patronizing, somehow - as if the people who huddled in here from day to day weren't already aware of the fact that that's all they were doing. Waiting. Helpless as a damn baby, with nothing they could do about it. No sense of control. Nothing left but to literally, agonizingly...wait. It was something Jefferson had never taken to very well._

_Being careful not to shift Martha, he swung another weary glance up at the clock on the wall. 5:35 a.m. He wasn't sure how many hours that made, but it had to be getting up there._

_Madison still stood silent under the Tv, shoulders hunched with weary tension and eyes glued to the ground. He barely even seemed to register the television that chattered quietly to itself in the high corner of the room above his head._

_Jefferson didn't even have to look left to see that Lauren's was still perched in his own chair on the opposite wall, elbows on his knees, hands folded, staring at God only knew what. Guy looked to be in a spell since he showed up. Lafayette and Mulligan were in the corner, the couple leaning against one another over the armrests of their chairs, hands clasped and eyes shut as they slept; The Burrs had arrived shortly after they did, and Aaron's wife, Theodosia was sitting beside Angelica now, rubbing her back in repetitive circles as the women sobbed into her hands, whispering soothingly every now and then about how "Everything would be alright" and "They'll patch him up, you'll see, I know they will." Theo was a good woman. The thought made Jefferson recall his own, and he turned his eyes down and to the right to check up on her._

_Ever since she had shown up a mere hours before, she'd been here in this room just like the rest of them. He had woken from his own nap sometime before and tried to get her to get some rest and God almighty, could the woman be stubborn. Jefferson had had to pull out every last one of his best stops just to get her to relax enough to nap- even the whole pleading-eyes thing, until he'd finally succeeded, an inflection in his voice somewhere between 'I'll wake you up the moment someone comes' and 'Woman, don't argue with me.' It'd been about half an hour now since the punchy women had finally conceded, and within minutes, she'd dropped off into a light sleep, both her arms curled around one of his, her cheek against his shoulder. At this point, Jefferson was just glad he could be of some comfort in all this; hell, it went both ways, and she probably didn't even know it. He couldn't really ask for more than that._

_She looked all right, so Jefferson was extra careful not to wake her as he brought his left arm around to pull a piece of her hair away from her eye. Small as it was, that was the only task he'd had for the last **Twelve** hours. Then there was nothing left to do again. It made him both weary and restless, like caging a dog._

_A soft, rhythmic beeping came from a room down the hall that some doctor had left open, mesmerizing in its repetition, almost hypnotic to their sleep-deprived states. Jeff took a slow breath and rubbed the heels of his hands into his closed eyes, idly wondering if he'd taken more breaths than he deserved today. A hell of a day like this seemed like it should've been over by now…of course, that would almost be like implying that the world was fair. Ha. It was as fair to him as that little kid....._

_And inevitably, that was right where all his trains of thought kept ending up. Philip. All the options of his condition occupied his mind, only one of which he could even begin to accept. There was only one option, and the others didn't exist; not to him. All those other scenarios were just there uninvited - and despite it, were making themselves pretty damn comfortable - but unfortunately Jefferson wasn't immune, and he let his eyes fall closed. And as his eyes fell closed a small thought came to him._

_Why did he stay._

_Why did he care. The kid wasn't his and some sick part of him knew that if the kid died it wouldn't be him going home alone with the heartbreak, it would be that poor women currently being comforted by Burrs wife. Sure the pain would hurt for a short while and he'd probably hug his kids a little more each day, but that women and her family would have to live with them gone, not him. Sure work would be strange and quite with Alexander gone and he'd never get to see Philips wide-eyed, bushy- haired face with that silly grin watching him work whenever Alexander brought him to work ever again. But he would get over that over time wouldn't he? So why did he care enough to wanna stay?_

_Was it because anytime he closed his eyes now he could hear the kids gurgled calls for his father and thought of his own kids. Was because he couldn't look at his hands now without seeing red even though it was gone now. Or was it because watching someone slowly die in front of your eyes did something to you internally. Made you feel like you owed them something and that leaving them would be like abandoning them._

_Maybe....it was because now that the kids blood was on his hands he felt like he owed him something. Or maybe there was no reason at all. There didn't always have to be a reason for everything a person did._

_But that didn't stop him from realizing that even if he wanted to leave, he felt like he couldn't. He knew deep down he wouldn't wanna be anywhere else. No matter how many hours he didn't go home, or the calls he had to field from the lobby, no matter what they needed him to do, he belonged here. Until there was news. He closed his eyes, rhythmically stroking his thumb over Martha's shoulder. He'd camp here all week, if it came to it. He owed him that. He didn't know why and would probably never know why, but he did._

_Martha yawned. Jeff looked down at her, kissing the top of her head. He didn't even catch the glare Madison gave the two of them before his eyes softened, before the annoying sudden chirps of Hercules ringtone startled his eyes to saucers._

_" ‘ercules, pick up your damn phone"_

_He grunted, and reached blindly into his pocket for the phone, to shut it up if nothing else. Glancing at the display he noted that he wasn't sure of the number calling, but this early in the morning meant the news was unlikely to be good._

_"Hello?" He croaked, and then attempted to clear his throat. There was a muffled voice on the other line._

_"No…no, it's okay…well, we don't know anything yet..but…" He went to say something, but stopped. He nodded, listening to the person on the other end, as the others glanced at him curiously. By the time he put his phone down, he was cursing underneath his breathe and he looked like he was gonna punt his phone across the room. Which to Jeffs humor, he noticed would probably had hit Aaron in the head if his aim was on point._

_"What's wrong"_

_"That was my mother....I think you guys might wanna turn on Channel Nine."_

_They looked at him with questioning glances, but Aaron had already stood up and started switching Channels, only to be greeted by the blaring headline._

**_LOCAL LAWYER AND SPOUSE FOUND SHOT DEAD IN THEIR HOME: Suspect Still at large._ **

_He settled back to watch it while the others gathered around the Television. They looked at the TV, the reporter was wrapping up the story while standing in front of the crime scene. There were cops behind her, gathering evidence, making notes, talking and laughing while standing around the open door leading up to the residence. Jefferson didn't know why, but the sight of the cops laughing made him ball his fists to the point he heard the subtle cracking of his knuckle joints._

_".....One victim was transported to the hospital. He is listed in critical condition with....."_

_Jefferson gritted his teeth, looking at the television, feeling as detached from the story as the woman reporting it as Martha clutched his arm in her sleep. "Critical condition" didn't even begin to describe it. "Shot to hell and barely hanging on" was more like it, but reporters never got that shit right. It was bad enough hearing how fucked up situations like this was in story after story on the nightly news; if they gave every bloody detail, the sane people still left would hightail it the hell out of there and chaos would run wild on the streets. It shouldn't have surprised him this thing was already on the news not even a day after it happened. Such a High-Profile case that this was, reporters and journalists were already scrambling over one another to get the story as it unfolded. He just wished they had the common decency to wait a while, least to let the family grieve before blaring it on every goddamn news channel on tv._

_"....Still no word on the motive for the shooting and no arrests have been made_."

_Aaron stood up and turned the tv off right as a all too cheery weatherman popped on screen predicting rain for the end if the week. Angelica cried harder. Comforting wasn't going to help now._

. . .

_  
Several hours had gone by now. Least that was how it felt, anyway. Either the clock in the waiting room had stopped about an hour ago, or time itself had just stopped moving, period. Very little was going to surprise Jefferson at this point._

_To his right, Martha was still asleep. Aaron had returned from his coffee run with not only a round of coffee for the wake ones, but a stack of spare blankets from the nurses' station, and Jefferson had gratefully taken one for her, draping it around her. She was cozied up under it now, snuggled up to the shoulder in both it and him.  
With the free hand he had, Jefferson rubbed the film from his eyes that lack of rest had put there. It must have worked, because suddenly, he blinked them in double-time, making sure that the doctor in purple scrubs heading their way was no mirage._

_The doctor walked into the room, his shoes clicking loudly by comparison to the buzz of the TV and vending machines and the steady beeping in the background. Everyone's head came up, whipping toward him as if he were their entire world._

_"Martha," he whispered, giving her hand a jostle. She woke hazily, taking only seconds to orient herself before standing up to greet the man. Jefferson stood with her. They all stood, the group of them. Together. All watching in suspense as the surgeon regarded his clipboard, all waiting to breathe._

_Something's wrong, Jefferson thought, it's been too long something's gone wrong._

_The tall man in a loosely-fitted pair of purple scrubs walked up to them. His jaw was chiseled and he wore rectangular black-rimmed glasses, enforcing his rigid demeanor. But beneath that, the doc looked just as tired and worn out as they all felt; Jefferson couldn't decide if that was a good sign or not. But the surgeons silence definitely wasn't helpful._

_But then "Is the family of Philip Hamilton here?"_


End file.
